Dying To Marry

by Janelle Taylor

  “Um, so just make yourself comfortable,” he said and then disappeared into the bathroom.

  Holly sighed and stared at the ceiling.

  No, don’t think, she told herself. Don’t think. Concentrate on something.

  She drummed her fingers against her thigh, stared at the ceiling, sipped her coffee.

  Part of her wanted to rush into the bathroom and join him in the shower, to show him how she felt.

  How do you feel? she asked herself.

  I don’t know. I only know I feel like I belong. When I’m with Jake, when I’m with Lizzie, I feel like I belong. Like I’m home.

  But how was it possible to feel that way here in Troutville, a town she hated perhaps even more than when she left a decade ago?

  Because no matter where you are, when you’re with Jake, when you’re with Lizzie, when you’re with Aunt Louise or Gayle or Flea, you’re home.

  Home is where they are, where the people you love are.

  Tears came to her eyes and she blinked them back. She didn’t want Jake to come out of the shower and find her crying on his couch. These feelings were all so new that she wasn’t ready to share them.

  Especially with Jake, who clearly wanted to forget last night had happened.

  I loved you in high school ...

  Perhaps last night had been about unfinished business for him. Perhaps he wanted to take what he wanted for the boy he once had been.

  Again she stared up at the ceiling, confused.

  Stop thinking, Holly. Read the newspaper instead.

  She picked up the Troutville Gazette, a paper she used to despise, and leaned back against the couch. The Gazette was a local paper, pretty small-time, but had a certain cachet in town and was read religiously by almost everyone. Holly had avoided it because of the coverage of Bride Under Peril. According to Jake, the two reporters covering the “incidents” were more interested in the whodunit aspect than in reporting the facts. Jake had hoped the reporters might help shed light on the case, but instead there was a tabloid quality to the coverage.

  Her heart beating a mile a minute, she looked for coverage of last night’s “incident,” and was relieved to see there was none. It must have occurred too late for the paper’s deadline. Besides, they hadn’t reported it to the police, and she and Jake had combed the house and the grounds for clues and had found nothing.

  Nothing. Always nothing. How could the culprit be so careful?

  Holly was about to toss the paper to the coffee table when the Town Tattler column caught her eye. The Town Tattler was just a gossip column written by a wealthy sixty-year-old woman whose husband had once owned the paper, but it was read and discussed gleefully in town. The headline read: “So That’s Why He’s Marrying Her.”

  Holly sucked in her breath and prayed what she was about to read had nothing to do with Lizzie. But there, in the first line, was her name. Her heart sank and she crumpled up the page and threw it. Then she imagined Lizzie hearing about it if not reading it herself, and she ran over to pick up the page so that she’d know how to counterattack.

  Bile rising in her throat, she sat back down on the couch, smoothed the page and read:

  Word has it that Dylan Dunhill III and Lizzie Morrow are marrying because Lizzie is pregnant with his child and forcing him into the union. What she has over his head is anyone’s guess. Or perhaps Dylan, the most eligible bachelor in the county, is a stand-up guy.

  How do we know Miss Morrow is with child? Hmmm ... It’s been reported from three Troutville locales that she has been requesting decaffeinated coffee and cappuccinos, when the woman’s coffee consumption—the real stuff—is well known. And, according to sources who attended the lavish engagement party hosted by her future mother-in-law, Victoria Dunhill, Lizzie didn’t have a single glass of wine or champagne. Plus, she clearly has cravings—or perhaps she’s always been a very good eater. Sources say she consumed an entire platter of fries and two hot dogs with the works at a recent charity baseball game for The Troutville Boys’ Center for which her handsome fiancé kindly volunteers time out of his busy schedule.

  It’s a good thing Lizzie is a strong and sturdy Down Hill girl, because the terrible events plaguing her and her friends must be causing her a great deal of stress, and we know that stress is not good for a baby.

  Holly heard the shower stop running. “Jake!” Holly called. “I have to go see Lizzie right away!”

  Jake rushed out of the bathroom, a green towel wrapped around his hips. Water dripped down his chest. She thrust the page at him, and he read it, his expression similar to Holly’s own.

  “What garbage!” he muttered. “Complete garbage. How dare she write this trash!”

  “I can only hope Lizzie dismisses it as the usual mean-spirited nonsense,” Holly said. “But I’m afraid this might be the last straw. I don’t know how much more she can take.”

  “Give me two seconds to throw on a shirt and jeans and we’re out of here,” Jake said.

  Moments later, they were at Dylan’s house, located just a quarter mile away. But Dylan and Lizzie weren’t there.

  And the Troutville Gazette was torn in half and lying in the garbage can awaiting pickup.

  Both Lizzie and Dylan were unreachable by cell phone, and Holly and Jake had no idea where they’d gone. They sat in Jake’s idle car in the parking lot of the Cooper County Park, Lizzie’s favorite. They’d hoped to find Lizzie and Dylan walking along Lizzie’s favorite trail by the dog runs or by the lake, tossing bread to the ducks, but the couple was nowhere to be found.

  Jake glanced at Holly. She looked so worried that it was all he could do not to turn to her and take her into his arms.

  But why? Why was he acting this way?

  He’d woken up early, overwhelmed to see her in his bed. He’d lain there for a while, unable to think, or to process his feelings. He’d been so overwhelmed that he’d closed up and acted like a jerk.

  “I don’t know where else to try looking for them,” Holly said, breaking into his thoughts. “We’ve tried everywhere I can think of.”

  He hoped he wasn’t adding to Holly’s worries. She had enough to think about with her cousin without having to try to figure out what was going through his mind.

  But what was he supposed to say? he wondered. That last night meant more to him than he could ever express, so he was closing up and acting like it never happened?

  “Can you think of somewhere Dylan would go to get away? A favorite place he likes to go to think things through?”

  “He often shoots hoops when he has to think,” Jake said. “At the Boys’ Center. But I’m not convinced he and Lizzie would be playing basketball right now.”

  “Perhaps they’re walking the grounds? The surrounding woods?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  Ten minutes later, they arrived at the Boys’ Center. Dylan’s car wasn’t in the lot. But Jake found it parked in a deserted stretch by the woods.

  “Oh, thank God,” Holly said. She turned to him. “Is it possible they want to be alone? I mean, us included? Maybe they’d rather not have us barge in? I didn’t even think of that until just now.”

  “Well, they did turn off their cell phones,” Jake said. “Since you can see who’s calling, it might mean that they want to be alone, just the two of them. Our hearts were in the right place by trying to find them, but perhaps we should give them a little space.”

  “Maybe I should head back to Lizzie’s and just be there,” Holly said. “So when she comes home, she can talk to me about it if she wants.”

  “Good idea,” he said.

  He felt her stiffen for a moment. Because you can’t wait to get rid of me? she was no doubt wondering.

  Hardly, he told her silently.

  Jake turned the car around and headed toward Lizzie’s. They drove in silence.

  Four hours and much pacing later, Holly heard the front door open and slam shut. A moment later she heard a crash—the sound of breaking glass.


  “Lizzie?” Holly called, hurrying down the stairs. She peered into the living room. It was empty. “Lizzie, are you okay?” she called out.

  No response.

  Holly headed into the kitchen. Lizzie was kneeling in front of a broken mug, a broom and dustpan in her hands. But she was just staring at the red pieces of ceramic. “Lizzie?”

  No response. And then tears.

  “Lizzie, honey?”

  “Did you read the Troutville Gazette today?” she asked. “I’m canceling my subscription, that’s for sure,” she added before bursting into tears.

  “Oh, Lizzie,” Holly said, pulling her cousin into her arms. Lizzie sobbed against her.

  “I’m trying to be strong about this,” Lizzie said. “Dylan said it’s my—our—best defense. But it’s so hard. It was just so mean. And so personal. Because of the baby, I guess. This innocent, sweet baby shouldn’t have to be the center of this disgusting animosity. I won’t stand for it.” Her anger chased away her tears. “Oh, Holly, you had the right idea by leaving this town!”

  “You have every right to live in this town in peace,” Holly said. “Troutville is your home.”

  “But I’m completely helpless against these horrible attacks—if it’s not the culprit, it’s a gossip rag or Pru Dunhill attacking me.”

  “So let’s fight back.”

  Lizzie turned to her. “How?”

  “Write an editorial,” Holly suggested. “At least you’ll be able to say what you want, get your side told. If no one chooses to believe you, that’s their problem. But you might feel better.”

  Lizzie liked the idea. She jumped up and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and sat down at the kitchen table. “What should I say?”

  Holly smiled and sat down beside her. “Tell this town who you are and how you feel. That’s it.”

  “I’m going to do just that,” she said, heading to the refrigerator. She pulled out ajar of pickles and a bottle of ketchup. She sliced two pickles, arranged them on a plate, and then squirted ketchup all over them. She popped one in her mouth, then added more ketchup to the pickles on the plate.

  “You’re pregnant, all right,” Holly said, winking at Lizzie.

  Lizzie laughed. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing my best to ignore my strange cravings,” Lizzie said. “Just in case anyone was paying too close attention—which they were! If I’d known I’d be outed in that gossip rag anyway, I would have been eating my ketchup-pickle slices and cheddar cheese cubes all over town.” She popped a couple of gooey pickle slices in her mouth. Then she shoved the plate away and burst into tears.

  “If you’d found out by reading the column ... I would have been devastated. I’m so glad I got to tell you first—well, sort of, anyway. At least I told my mom before she heard about it in town. I had to call her at the crack of dawn. Oh, God, Holly, everything is so crazy.” She placed her hand on top of Holly’s. “Oh, hell. I’m doing it again. I’m pregnant, Holly-Molly! That’s what’s important. I’m so happy. And Dylan, he’s beside himself with joy. We’re going to have a baby!”

  “I’m so happy for you, Lizzie.”

  “And this means a little first cousin once removed for you,” Lizzie said. “Or is that second cousin?”

  Holly laughed. “I have no idea!”

  “If it’s a girl, Dylan wants to name her Lizzie, after me. Isn’t that sweet?”

  Holly nodded, her heart too full to speak. “And if it’s a boy?”

  “Dylan Dunhill IV,” Lizzie said.

  “I’m so happy for you, Lizzie,” Holly said, squeezing her cousin into another hug.

  “I know you are, Hol,” Lizzie said. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner than I did. There’s so much I haven’t told you, so much I’ve been keeping to myself.”

  “You can tell me, anything, Lizzie. And I promise I’ll never judge you again.”

  And she wouldn’t.

  “I wonder what Dylan’s mother is thinking right now,” Lizzie said.

  “She’s going to be a grandmother,” Holly said. “I’m sure she’s thrilled.”

  “Well, my mother was thrilled, that’s for sure. But my mom loves me. Dylan’s mother doesn’t even like me,” she added with a frown. “And she might not be too thrilled about my being pregnant before the wedding.”

  “I have a feeling she’ll be so happy about her little grandchild-to-be that she’ll forget about the timing,” Holly said.

  Lizzie didn’t look convinced.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the value of our companies’ stocks plummeted,” Mrs. Dunhill muttered, slamming the Troutville Gazette, open to the Town Tattler, on her desk. “This is an absolute disgrace!”

  Jake and Dylan sat across from Mrs. Dunhill. Jake glanced at his friend; the guy looked like he was about to explode.

  “Mother,” Dylan said between gritted teeth. “It’s not a disgrace. It’s a blessing. And it’s too bad you can’t see that. That’s what’s a disgrace.”

  “Dylan Dunhill the Third,” Mrs. Dunhill said, “If your father heard the way you just spoke to me he would turn over in his grave.”

  Exasperated, Dylan shook his head. “Jake, talk some sense into my mother, will you?”

  “Jake isn’t running around fathering babies out of wedlock,” Mrs. Dunhill snapped. “Or being forced into marriage because of it.”

  Dylan started to rise, no doubt to walk out on his mother. Jake put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Mrs. Dunhill, with all due respect, I’m with Dylan on this. You’re having a grandchild. That’s something to celebrate.”

  “I’m not about to arrange a parade for news of an illegitimate child,” Mrs. Dunhill said.

  “Well, Mother, I guess Lizzie and I will just celebrate on our own,” Dylan said. “In fact, I’ll be leaving now to do just that.”

  “This isn’t about my being old-fashioned,” Mrs. Dunhill said. “It’s about morality. Propriety. Social standing. People in town look up to us.”

  As Dylan and Jake stared at her with incredulity on their faces, Mrs. Dunhill picked up the receiver of her antique telephone and dialed. “Pru, dear, it’s Mother. I’d like to see you in my office, please. Yes, dear, it’s important. I said now, Pru. Not in five minutes.”

  A few moments later, Pru Dunhill, looking as though she just walked out of a beauty salon, popped her head in. At the sight of Jake, she went into power flirtation mode, thrusting out her chest and twirling the ends of her hair. “Why, Jake Boone, what have you possibly said to upset my mother so?”

  Oh, brother.

  “Pru, come in, please,” Mrs. Dunhill said. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the chair next to Dylan. “Have you read the Gazette today?”

  “I assume you’re referring to the news about Lizzie’s pregnancy,” Pru said, examining her nails. “I didn’t read the column myself. Arianna read most of it to me over the phone. I was too bored to listen to the whole thing.”

  “Bored?” Mrs. Dunhill said. “You find it boring that you’re going to be the aunt of a bastard child?”

  “Well, if it’s a bastard, I’m not the aunt, am I?” Pru said.

  “She’s got you there, Mother,” Dylan said, shooting his sister a look. “So you have nothing to worry about. The baby won’t be your grandchild if you consider him or her illegitimate.”

  Mrs. Dunhill seemed to take this in. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Threatening you?” Dylan asked. He looked to Jake and threw up his hands. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  “Don’t you dare use that language in this house!” Mrs. Dunhill yelled.

  “Oh, but bastard child is all right?” Dylan said.

  “Can I go now?” Pru said. “I have an appointment for a pedicure. This color looks simply awful with this dress, don’t you think, Jakie?” She lifted her knee so and rested her foot on the edge of her chair. Her white, flowered underwear was visible. She spread her knees ever so slightly.

  �
�Pru, I can see your underwear,” Dylan said. “A little decorum from the daughter of the Ettiquete Queen, please.”

  “Pru Dunhill!” Mrs. Dunhill snapped, reaching over the desk to slap down Pru’s knee.

  “Mother, I’m late,” Pru said, getting up. “It’s not like news about the pregnancy is any worse than news about the marriage, so why get all upset?”

  Dylan stared at the ceiling and began counting to twenty. Again Jake put a calming hand on his shoulder.

  “Jake, let’s go,” Dylan said and stood.

  “I’m not finished,” Mrs. Dunhill responded.

  “I am,” Dylan retorted.

  The moment they were outside the front door, Dylan kicked the brick wall so hard that he winced.

  “Dylan, let out your aggression at the hoops, not here,” Jake cautioned. “The last thing you want is a broken foot.”

  “You’re right,” Dylan said, jogging down the steps to his car. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Once in Dylan’s car and on the road, Dylan calmed down. “I think Lizzie’s cousin had the right idea by leaving Troutville. I can’t even stand my own family anymore. And I’m beginning to hate this small-minded, gossipy, crappy town. I’ve been thinking a lot lately of leaving. Lizzie wants to stay, but I think we’d be happier somewhere else. Somewhere new. Where we can start a new life together without all these ridiculous prejudices and feuds.”

  “Well, if you two do move, move to a bordering town,” Jake said, tossing his friend a smile. “The Boys’ Center needs you.”

  “I know,” Dylan said. “I’d never leave the center, although there are needy kids everywhere.”

  “Speaking of the center,” Jake said, “according to Lizzie, she told you about the pregnancy at the center. She said there were several boys around. Do you recall if any of the boys could have overheard you? Or were any of them waiting outside the door as you and Lizzie were leaving?”

  “I’m trying to remember,” Dylan said, turning onto Troutville Plaza. “I was so stunned by the news that just about everything went out of my head. Oh, wait—I do remember seeing Billy Mayville and Logan Jefferson before Lizzie came in. They wanted help with their three-point shots. And Jimmy Morgan was waiting for me as Lizzie and I were leaving, but I was so rocked by the news of the pregnancy that I barely acknowledged him.”